THE 

COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM 

And  Other  Poems 


BY    THE   SAME   AUTHOR 


A  CHANT  OF  LOVE  FOR  ENGLAND 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


A  volume  of  miscellaneous  poems 
containing  as  its  title  poem  a  reply 
to  the  German  "Hymn  of  Hate." 

"  Firmly  and  finely  fashioned,  ajid 
unaffectedly  sincere." 

— The  New  York  Times. 

11  Miss  Cone's  verse  shows  a  deli 
cacy  of  imagination  which  is  deserving 
of  high  praise."— The  Outlook. 

$1.50  net 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 

68 1  FIFTH  AVENUE 


THE 

COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM 

And  Other  Poems 


BY 
HELEN   GRAY   CONE 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  CHANT  OF  LOVE  FOR  ENGLAND, 
AND  OTHER  POEMS" 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON   &    COMPANY 

68 1  FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT  1919,  BY 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Grateful  acknowledgment  is  made,  for  permission  to 
reprint  some  of  the  poems  in  this  book,  to  Scribner's 
Magazine,  The  Outlook,  The  Sonnet,  The  New  York 
Evening  Post,  The  Now  York  Times,  The  Boston 
Evening  Transcript,  and  The  Association  Monthly. 


458935 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM i 

SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE         .       .       .       .       .  9 

MOODS  OF  WAR: 

THE  SWORD 21 

ALIGNED 23 

EARTH-BROWN  ARMIES 26 

THE  IMPERATIVE 27 

WAR-SACRIFICE 29 

THE  YOUTH  AND  WAR 31 

MOTHERS  OF  SOLDIERS 33 

A  REPRISAL 35 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  UNTRIED  SOLDIER        .       .  39 

THE  AIRMAN 41 

To  FRANCIS  LEDWIDGE 42 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WHITE  SOULS       ....  44 

RESPITE 47 

HAPPY  COUNTRY 49 

To  FRANCE 51 

To  BELGIUM S3 

THE  CREED  OF  AN  AMERICAN 55 

THE  ULTIMATE  VICTORY 58 

ROOSEVELT,  1919 60 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PACK 

THE  QUIET  DAYS: 

OLD  BURYING  HILL 65 

HEARTBREAK  ROAD 66 

ROMANCE 67 

FAITH 69 

INTIMATIONS 70 

ON  THE  SINGING  OF  "  GAUDEAMUS  IGITUR  "  .       .  73 

THE  COUNTERSIGN 74 

FAILURE  TRIUMPHANT 75 

THE  SPARK 77 

FOXGLOVES 79 

THE  CHRISTMAS  BAGPIPES 80 

WHEN  ROSES  Go  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA       ...  82 
RITUAL  FOR  SUMMER  DEAD         .       .       .       .       .85 

RED  OCTOBER 87 

THE  SINGER  CHOOSES  THE  SONGS  OF  THE  WIND  .  89 

THE  GLEAM  TRAVELS 91 

THE  GRAY  VICTORY 93 

FLAGS  AND  THE  SKY 96 


THE  COAT  WITHOUT  A 
SEAM 


THE  COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM 

THERE  was  a  web,  ere  Time  began, 

Woven  on  the  loom  of  God, 

Woven  for  the  need  of  Man. 

Through  the  web  two  colors  ran, 

Blue  that  is  the  sky  of  God, 

Red  that  is  the  blood  of  Man. 

The  web  was  woven,  the  web  was  one: 

The  stars  sang  when  the  work  was  done. 

God  had  willed  it  to  be  worn — 
Fit  garment  for  the  heavenly  feast— » 
By  Man,  that  was  to  be  His  son. 
Only  God  could  dream  that  dream! 
When  Time  began,  and  Man  was  born, 
3 


4;  ':  :        TITE  COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM 

He  clothed  himself  in  the  skin  of  the  beast, 
And  under  it  beat  the  heart  of  the  beast. 
Not  till  Man  be  born  God's  son 
Shall  he  wear  the  Coat  without  a  Seam! 

(Ah,  the  dream,  the  wondrous  dream 
Of  a  World  without  a  Seam, 
Man  being  one,  as  God  is  one, 
Brother's  brother  and  Father's  son, 
All  earth,  all  Heaven,  without  a  seam!) 

The  Roman  strode  through  field  and  flood, 

Blind  as  Fate  with  battle-blood; 

Victory  glittered  in  his  hand; 

And  when  he  laid  him  down  at  night 

Under  the  stars  of  some  strange  land, 

Weary  of  the  march  or  fight, 

He  wrapped  his  heart  in  the  vast  dream 

Of  a  World  without  a  Seam; 


THE  COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM  $ 

Yet  the  dream  was  not  divine; 

The   fierce   heart  beat  like  marching   feet: 

"The  World  is  one — the  World  is  mine!" 

That  was  the  dream  of  states  foregone, 

Of  Babylon,  of  Macedon; 

Sleeked  by  whatsoever  art, 

It  is  the  dream  of  the  beast's  heart. 

Massive-treading  Rome  paced  on 

(As  Macedon,  as  Babylon,) 

Into  the  dusk  of  states  foregone: 

She  left  her  mantle  still  astream 

Along  the  wind,  her  purple  dream — 

Not  the  Coat  without  a  Seam! 

The  eyes  of  emperors  see  it  float, 

They  hail  it  for  the  sacred  Coat: 

Men  follow  on  through  field  and  flood, 

Blind  as  Fate  with  battle-blood. 

See  the  sworded  sceptred  train, 

Out  of  the  dusk  they  all  advance: 


6  THE  COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM 

Iron-crowned  Charlemagne, 

Barbarossa  flaming  past, 

Sombre  majesties  of  Spain, 

Pomps  of  old  monarchic  France — 

Supreme  Napoleon  last, 

Sweeping  his  ermine-bordered  robe 

And  gripping  fast  the  globe. 

(Nay,  who  is  this  that  follows  him, 

A  vision  helmeted  and  grim, 

A  countenance  pallid  and  aghast?) 

— Into  the  dusk  they  all  are  gone, 

As  Babylon,  as  Macedon. 

Not  till  Man  shall  dream  God's  dream 

Shall  he  wear  the  Coat  without  a  Seam! 

(Ah,  the  dream,  the  wondrous  dream 
Of  a  World  without  a  Seam! 
Man  being  one,  as  God  is  one, 
Brother's  brother  and  Father's  son, 
All  earth,  all  Heaven  without  a  seam!) 


THE  COAT  WITHOUT  A  SEAM  7 

"What  shall  we  do,  we  simple  folk 
Who  walk  as  cattle  in  the  yoke? 
Surely  the  vision  of  this  Coat — 
Fit  garment  for  the  heavenly  feast — 
Is  for  prophet  and  for  priest, 
Not  for  men  of  little  note! 
Surely  the  quest  to  find  this  Coat — 
Woven  of  empyrean  thread 
Heaven-blue   and  heart-red — 
This  is  for  Kings  and  Chancellors, 
Parliaments  and  Emperors, 
Not  for  men  of  little  note!" 
— Nay,  this  do  ye  every  one: 
All  your  days  to  dream  God's  dream, 
That  Man,  who  is  to  be  His  son, 
Shall  wear  the  Coat  without  a  Seam! 


SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT 
PEACE 


SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE 


Incertainties  now  crown  themselves  assured 
And  peace  proclaims  olives  of  endless  age." 

—SHAKESPEARE'S  Sonnet  CVII. 


WHAT  boon  is  this,  this  fresh  and  crystal 

thing, 
Perfect  as  snow,  dropped  from  the  deep 

of  the  sky — 
This  healing,  shed  as  from  the  soft  swift 

wing 

Of  some  great  mystical  bird  low-sweep 
ing  by? 

ii 


12  SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE 

This  music  suddenly  thrilling  through   the 
mind 

Angelic  unimagined  ecstasy, 
As  when  warm  fingers  of  the  Spring  unbind 

Young  brooks   that   laugh   and  leap,    at 

last  being  free? 
By  what  white  magic,  what  unfathomed  art, 

Was  this  best  gift  secretly  perfected, 
This  amulet,  that  laid  against  the  heart 

Melts  all  the  icy  weight  that  held  it  dead? 
This  is  that  Peace  we  had  and  did  not  know; 
This  is  that  Peace  we  lost — how  long  ago! 


II 


Shall  we  not  now  work  wonders  with  this 

charm, 

To  the  vext  heart  of  the  world  benignly 
laid, 


SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE  13 

Fending  all  future  golden  lads  from  harm, 
And  all  gray  mothers,  and  every  starry 

maid? 

Yea,  all  kind  beasts  that  ask  with  patient  eyes 

Our  wisdom  to  forestall  bewildering  pain : 

Yea,   all  kind  fields,   trees   rippling  to   the 

skies, 
Brown      earth      sweet-breathing      under 

natural  rain. 
Shall  we  not  now,  being  freed,  being  healed 

of  Peace, 
Retrieve   all   days  to  be   from  blot   and 

blight, 
Give  to  the  chained  goodwill  of  Man  release, 

And  a  new  deed  of  manumission  write 
On  a  new  page,  made  by  this  marvellous 

boon 
Pure  as  unfooted  snow  under  the  moon? 


14  SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE 


III 


How  did  we  cast  away  our  careless  days 
In  that  old  time  before  we  knew  their 

worth, 
Wandering  with  chance,  even  as  a  chil4  that 

strays, 
Spilling  their  unprized  splendors  on  the 

earth! 
But  now  we  have  eaten  War  as  daily  bread, 

Borne  it  upon  our  souls  a  weary  weight, 
Made  it  the  pillow  to  a  restless  head, 

Breathed  it  as  air,  sick  with  the  reek  of 

hate: 

And  Peace  is  come  a  stranger,  and  grave- 
eyed, 

Like  a  young  maid  turned  woman ;  on  our 
knees 


SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE  15 

We  do  her  reverence  as  a  spirit  enskyed; 
How  should  we  spend  such  shining  days 

as  these? 
They  have  cost  great  pain:  needs  must  we 

hold  them  dear, 
Counting  our  jewels  with  a  heavenly  fear. 


IV 

Ghosts  of  great  flags  that  billowed  in  the 

sun 
With  glorious  colors  above  the  crowded 

street, 
Lifting  our  hearts  to  know  the  rent  world 

one, 
Teaching  the  march  of  Man  to  hurrying 

feet, 
Shall  ye  not  haunt  those  skyward  spaces  still 


16  SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE 

With     memory     of     your     sun-illumined 

streaming, 

Bright  brother-angels  heralding  goodwill, 
Beckoners    of    sordid    spirits    to    noble 

dreaming? 

Or  shall  your  many  beauteous  blazonries 
Fade  out  from  the  dulled  sense  and  be 

forgot, 
And  intimations  so  august  as  these 

Lapse  into  silence  even  as  they  were  not, 
Comrades  turn  rivals,  and  heart-fast  allies 
Weavers    of   schemes,    peering    with    insect 
eyes  ? 

sV! 

What  shame   were   this   to  those  who   lie 

asleep 
Under  the  scarlet  poppies,  having  bought 


SONNETS  OF  THE  GREAT  PEACE  17 

I 

I 

[A  clean  new  world  with  blood  I     Shall  we 

not  keep 
Faith  with  our  dead,  and  give  them  what 

they  sought? 

Is  not  a  world  the  measure  of  our  debt 
To    those    whose    young    lives    sadly    we 

inherit, 

Living  them  out,  making  them  fruitful  yet? 
What  lesser  meed  fits  their  transcendent 

merit? 
The  future  was  their  sacrificial  gift, 

And  joy  unborn,  and  beauty  uncreate, 
And  little  children  that  should  racing  lift 
Their  torch  of  life,  laughing  at  death  and 

fate: 

Shall  we  not  make,  mindful  of  all  they  gave, 
!A  star  of  this  old  earth  which  is  their  grave? 


MOODS  OF  WAR 


THE  SWORD 

ONE  of  the  seventy  had  a  sword 
The  day  that  Christ  was  crucified: 

He  followed  where  they  led  his  Lord, 
The  man  that  could  not  stand  aside. 

When  that  first  hammer-stroke  rang  loud, 
And  left  and  right  the  rabble  swayed, 

He  flashed  from  out  the  staring  crowd, 
He  died  upon  the  Roman  blade. 

His  fruitless  deed,  his  noteless  name, 
By  careless  Rome  were  never  told. 

Now  shall  we  give  him  praise  or  blame? 
Account  him  base,  acclaim  him,  bold? 


21 


22  THE  SWORD 

Was  he  the  traitor  to  his  Lord, 
Deeper  than  Peter  that  denied, 

The  loving  soul  that  took  the  sword, 
The  man  that  would  not  stand  aside? 

Or  did  the  glorious  company 
Of  Michael's  sworded  seraphim 

With  chivalrous  high  courtesy 

Rise  up  to  make  a  place  for  him? 


ALIGNED 

WHY  do  you  leap  in  the  wind  so  wild, 

O  Star-Flag,  O  Sky-Flag? 
And  why  do  you  ripple  as  if  you  smiled, 

Flag  of  my  heart's  delight? 
"I  laugh  because  I  am  loosed  at  last, 
Free  of  the  cords  that  bound  me  fast 
Mute  as  a  mummy,  furled  on  the  mast, 

Far  from  the  beckoning  fight  I 

"I  joy  because  I  am  aligned — • 
The  Star-Flag,  the  Sky-Flag— 

With  these  the  noblest  of  my  kind, 
Flags  of  the  soul's  desire ! 


24  ALIGNED 

And  where  the  blended  Crosses  blaze, 
And  where  the  Tricolor  lifts  and  sways 
To  the  marching  pulse  of  the  Marseillaise, 
I  may  be  tried  in  the  fire!" 

Yea,  not  for  gold  and  not  for  ease, 

My  Star-Flag,  my  Sky-Flag, 
The  Fathers  launched  you  on  the  breeze, 

Flag  of  man's  best  emprise! 
Yea,  not  for  power  and  not  for  greed, 
But  to  fly  forever,  follow  or  lead, 
For  the  world's  hope  and  the  world's  need, 

Flower  of  all  seas  and  all  skies! 

And  better  you  were  a  riddled  rag, 

My  Star-Flag,  my  Sky- Flag, 
The  faded  ghost  of  a  fighting-flag, 

Shredded,  and  scorched  with  flame, 


ALIGNED  25 

Than  that  you  should  now  be  satisfied 
Over  splendid  cities  and  waters  wide 
To  flutter  and  float  in  an  idle  pride, 
To  flaunt  in  a  silken  shame  I 

Then  well  may  you  leap  in  the  wind  so  wild, 

O  Star-Flag,  O  Sky-Flag! 
And  well  may  you  ripple  as  if  you  smiled, 

Flag  of  our  hearts*  delight! 
We  joy  because  you  are  aligned 
With  these  the  noblest  of  your  kind: 
We    are    yours    and    theirs    with    a    single 
mind — • 

Let  us  on  to  the  beckoning  fight  I 


EARTH-BROWN  ARMIES 

EARTH-BROWN  armies,  on  the  brown  earth 

whither, 

Ant-like  swarming,  rush  ye  in  your  wrath? 
— We  wrestle  and  we  tug  and  we  pull  all 

together 

To  shift  the  giant  Dead  Thing  that  lies 
across  the  path. 

Earth-brown  armies,  but  should  it  roll  and 

smother, 

Log-like  topple,  and  crush  you  in  the  clod? 
• — Earth   would  pour  new  armies,   one   be 
hind  another, 

To  shift  the  giant  Dead  Thing  that  blocks 
the  way  of  God  I 


26 


THE  IMPERATIVE 

WHETHER  we  lose  the  light 

Of  love  or  of  the  sun, 
With  body  and  blood  and  mind  and  might 

Must  this  sole  thing  be  done: 

The  world  is  a  broken  ball, 

Stained  red  because  it  fell 
Out  of  bounds,  in  a  game  of  kings, 

Over  the  wall  of  hell: 

And  now  must  the  spirit  of  man 

Arise  and  adventure  all — 
Leap  the  wall  sheer  down  into  hell 

And  bring  up  the  broken  ball. 
27 


28  THE  IMPERATIVE 

Worth  well,  to  lose  the  light 

Of  love  or  of  the  sun, 
Worth  endless  fire  or  endless  night, 

So  this  sole  thing  were  done! 


WAR-SACRIFICE 

ON  a  rock-altar  stern 

In  sacrificial  fires, 
A  man  goes  up  to  burn 

His  memories  and  desires. 

Sweet  savors  of  the  earth, 
All  innocence  and  ease, 

All  pleasantness  and  mirth, 
He  offers  on  his  knees. 

His  trembling,  star-white  dreams; 

His  body's  secret  fear; 
His  life — how  dear  it  seems, 

How  knit  with  lives  more  dear! 
29 


30  WAR-SACRIFICE 

Last  offering,  and  most  dread — - 
With  blind  arms  thrust  above 

His  bowed  and  suffering  head, 
He  burns  his  brother-love: 

Yet  from  that  altar  springs, 

Magnificently  bright, 
A  Love  with  fiery  wings 

To  fill  the  world  with  light. 


THE  YOUTH  AND  WAR 

said,  "I  will  hide  all  the  brave  books 
away  from  him, 
With  their  scarlet  letters  that  burn  into 

the  heart; 
I  will  lock  their  spell  and  their  sovereign 

sway  from  him; 

I  will  rear  him  tenderly,  a  life  apart." 
But  the  day  came  and  the  hour  came, 
And  the  foul  deed  struck  him  like  a 

spur; 
And  he  felt  the  shame  and  the  swift 

flame, 

And  his  eyes  were  strange  to  her. 
31 


32  THE  YOUTH  AND  WAR 

In  the   dreams  of  the  night  had  the  old 

Captains  come  to  him, 
And  the  staunch  old  Admirals  that  died 

long  ago; 
From  the  old  fields  of  fight  came  the  roll 

of  the  drum  to  him, 

With  a  call  that  his  mother  could  not  know; 
It    seemed    that    a    Sword    gleamed 

blinding-bright 

At  the  dawn-edge  of  the  sky; 
And  he  said,  "O  Mother,  the  Right  is 

the  Right: 
I  must  fight  for  it  now  though  I  die  I" 


MOTHERS  OF  SOLDIERS 

WHAT  should  we  say  to  you,  O  glorious 

Mothers 
Sacred  and  full  of  sorrows,  we  childless 

ones? 
We   kneel   to   you    as    haloed   women,    we 

others, 
The  slighter  lives  that  could  not  give  their 

sons. 

Not  ours  the  exquisite  anguish  of  surrender, 
The  deep,  still  courage  that  day  by  day 

endures, 

The  rosary  of  memories  piercing-tender, 
The   travail    and   the   triumph   that   are 
yours. 


34  MOTHERS  OF  SOLDIERS 

The  agony  and  the  glory  of  creation 

You  have  partaken;  in  that  steep  way  you 
trod 

You    have    made    yourselves    part    of    the 

world's  salvation, 

You  have.shared  the  passion  and  the  joy 
of  God. 

With  splendor  of  sunrise  and  the  surging 

morn, 
Out  of  your  pain  shall  Man  be  newly  born. 


A  REPRISAL 

AT  the  deep  midnight  hour 
Sleep,  that  makes  all  things  whole, 
Indulged  my  tortured  soul. 
In  the  jewel-chest  of  dreams 
He  stirred  the  elusive  gleams, 
And  found  the  gift  of  power, 
Round,  pure,  and  perfect  power, 
And  laid  it  in  my  hand. 

I  said:  "I  have  command 

Of  the  Prince  of  the  Power  of  the  Air; 

His  own  wings  will  I  wear  I 

I  will  soar  as  a  great  hell-kite 

To  be  named  The  Terror-by-Night, 

Over  mine  enemy's  land." 

35 


36  A  REPRISAL 

At  the  thought,  I  rode  the  sky, 
High  over  the  sea,  and  high 
Over  field  and  city  and  spire; 
I  laughed;  I  had  my  desire. 
For  I  came  to  mine  enemy's  roof, 
Safe  in  a  valley  aloof, 
And  I  knew,  as  I  poised  above, 
There  lay  his  Hope  and  his  Love, 
The  twain  that  he  held  most  dear, 
Nestled  with  cheeks  together, 
Roses  in  summer  weather, 
Sleeping  without  a   fear. 
Gray  Memory,  close  beside, 
Couched  her  old,  kindly  head. 
It  was  mine  to  strike  them  dead, 
Even  as  mine  own  had  died. 

I  cried  with  a  great  voice, 
To  mine  enemy  I  cried: 


A  REPRISAL  37 

"Come  forth,  come  forth,  to  hearl 

Look  up,  look  up,  to  see ! 

Lo,  what  is  in  my  choice ! 

This  deed  of  black  disgrace, 

This  have  you  done  to  me; 

This  might  I  do  to  you; 

Yet  this  I  would  not  do, 

Yea,  this  I  could  not  do! 

Let  the  knowledge  smite  your  pride 

Like  a  gauntlet  in  the  face!'* 

Mine  enemy  stood  in  his  gate: 
He  was  sadder  than  I  had  thought. 
I  hated  what  he  had  wrought, 
But  him  I  could  not  hate. 
His  eyes  were  startled  wide. 
What  would  he  have  replied? 
I  know  not.     Ere  he  spoke, 
The  merciless  morning  broke. 


38  A  REPRISAL 

Hawkers  in  sunny  streets 
Shrilled  triumphs  and  defeats, 
Sold  horrors  and  despairs. 
Bells  called  the  world  to  prayers. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  UNTRIED 
SOLDIER 

"He  was  likely,  had  he  been  put  on, 
To  have  proved  most  royally;  and  for  his  passing 
The  soldiers'  music  and  the  rites  of  war 
Speak  loudly  for  him"— HAMLET. 

HE  died  in  armor,  died  with  lance  in  rest. 
The    trumpet   had   not   sounded   for   the 
charge ; 

Yet  shall  his  guerdon  of  golden  fame  be 

large, 
For  he  was  ready;  he  had  met  his  test. 

No  sacrifice  is  more  complete  and  dean 
Than  that  in  the  locked  soul,  secret  and 
still. 


39 


40  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  UNTRIED  SOLDIER 

Take  for  a  visible  deed  the  perfect  will; 
Crown  with  sad  pride  the  accomplishment 
unseen. 

Hang  his  bright  arms  undinted  on  the  wall. 
In  all  brave  colors  whereto  his  dreams 

aspired 
Blazon    his    blank    shield    as    his    heart 

desired, 
And  write  above:  "The  readiness  is  all" 


THE  AIRMAN 

SPLENDOR  of  chivalrous  Youth,  swift-soar 
ing  far 
In  valorous  venture  of  eagle-battle  on  high' 

Fate  of  a  falling  star — 

Nay!  a  new  Star  in  the  sky! 


[TO  FRANCIS  LEDWIDGE 

(Killed  in  action,  July  31,  1917) 

BEAUTY'S  boy-servant,  far  in  Flanders  dead, 
There  shoots   across  the  sea   a  shaft  of 

pain 

To   think   you    are    gone — a    memory   gar 
landed 
With  wilding  flowers  plucked  in  an  Irish 

lane. 
'Your  songs  were  like  sweet  waters  to  the 

throat, 
Or    tenderness    and    freshness    of   young 

leaves; 

Surely  the  blackbird  checks  his  laughing  note, 
And  for  your  loss  the  dripping  rainbow 
grieves. 

42 


TO  FRANCIS  LEDWEDGE  43 

With  Brooke  you  are  gone,  with  Grenfell, 

on  high  ways 
Lost  to  our  sense,  beyond  the  chance  of 

wrong ; 

Singers  fall  silent  in  these  thunderous  days, 
But  their  bright  death  is  radiance  and  a 

seng. 
• — God  send  kind  sleep  to  those  clear  Irish 

eyes 
That   saw   the   old   earth   still    dewy   with 

surprise  I 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WHITE  SOULS 


(To  the  Memory  of  JOYCE  KILMER,  killed  in  action, 
July  30,  1918) 


I  STOOD  in  the  summer  night,  when  the  hosts 

of  heaven  seemed  nigh, 
And  I  saw  the  powdery  swirl  of  stars,  where 

it  swept  across  the  sky, 
The  wide  way  of  the  white  stars,  where  it 

ran  up  and  down, 
And  my  heart  was  sad  for  the  man  who  said 

It  was  Main  Street,  Heaventown. 

He  chose  to  walk  in  the  Main  Street,  in  the 

wide  ways  of  men; 
He  set  wings  to  the  common  things  with  the 

kind  touch  of  his  pen; 

44 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WHITE  SOULS  45 

He  caught  the  lilt  of  the  old  tune  that  the 
hearts  of  the  plain  folk  beat; 

He  might  have  dreamed  on  the  far  faint 
hills — but  he  walked  in  the  Main  Street 

He  knelt  down  with  his  fellows,  in  the  warm 

faith  of  the  throng; 
He  went  forth  with  his  fellows  to  fight  a 

monstrous  Wrong; 
He  marched  away  to  the  true  tune  that  the 

hearts  of  brave  men  beat, 
Shoulder  to  brown  shoulder,  with  the  men 

in  the  Main  Street. 

A  road  runs  bright  through  the  night  of 
Time,  since  ever  the  world  began, 

The  wide  Way  of  the  White  Souls,  the  Main 
Street  of  Man, 


46  THE  WAY  OF  THE  WHITE  SOULS 

The  sky-road  of  the  star-souls,  beyond  all 

wars  and  scars; 
And  there  the  singing  soul  of  him  goes  on 

with  the  marching  stars. 

So,  as  I  stand  in  the  summer  night,  when  the 

hosts  of  heaven  seem  nigh, 
And  look   at  the   powdery  swirl   of  stars, 

where  it  sweeps  across  the  sky, 
The  wide  way  of  the  white  stars,  where  it 

runs  up  and  down, 
My  heart  shall  be  glad  for  the  friend  who 

said  It  was  Main  Street,  Hearuentown. 


RESPITE 

O  BEAUTY,  heal  my  heart!     I  lean  to  thee, 
Faint,  having  supped  with  horrors:  give 

me  drink! 
— Red    slopes    beneath    tall    pines,    ranged 

tree  on  tree; 
Long  cool  gray  lakes,  with  iris  round  the 

brink 

In  knightly  companies  purple  and  proud; 
Birches     as     altar-candles     slender     and 

white ; 

A  late  gold  sun,  traced  curiously  with  cloud; 
The  spacious  splendors  of  the  moon-filled 
night ; 

47 


48  RESPITE 

Among   the   wild-rose   crowds,    the   perfect 

one; 
White  sea-gulls  like  white  lilies,  on  brown 

bars 
That  slant  athwart  blue  bays;  gulls  in  the 

sun 

Rising  as  galaxies  of  trembling  stars: 
Lull  me  awhile,  O  Beauty,  drug  my  dread! 
• — To-morrow  morn  War  stands  beside  my 
bed. 


HAPPY  COUNTRY 

HERE  by  the  bright  blue  creek  the  good 

ships  lie 
A-building,    and   the   hammers   beat    and 

beat, 
And  the   wood-smell   is   pleasant   in   the 

heat; 
The  strong  rils  curve  against  the  marsh  and 

sky. 

Here  the  old  men  are  mowing  in  the  sun, 
And  the  hay-sweetness  blends   with   the 

wild-rose ; 

At  the  field's  edge  the  scarlet  lily  glows; 
The  great  clouds  sail,  and  the  swift  shadows 
run, 

49 


So  HAPPY  COUNTRY 

And  the  broad  undulant  meadows  gloom  and 

smile ; 

Over  the  russet  red-top  warm  winds  pass, 
The  swallow  swoops  and  swerves,  the 

cattle  stand 
In  the  cool  of  shallow  brooks — and  all  the 

while 
Peace  basks  asleep,  she  dreams  of  some 

sad  land 

Leagues  over  sea,  where  youth  is  mown  as 
grass. 


TO  FRANCE 

SWEET    France,    we    greet    thee    with    our 

cheers,  our  tears, 

Our  tardy  swords !     O  sternly,  wanly  fair 
In    that    red    martyr-aureole    thou    dost 

wear! 

Even  for  the  sake  of  our  bright  pioneers, 
Chapman,  and  Seeger,  and  such  dear  dead 

peers 

Of  thy  dead  sons,  joyous  and  swift  to  dare 
All  fiery  danger  of  the  earth  and  air, 
Forgive  us,  France,  our  hesitating  years  I 

Quenchless  as  thine  own  spirit  is  our  trust 
That  thou  ahalt  spring  resurgent,  like  the 


52  TO  FRANCE 

Pure  plume  of  Bayard,  from  the  blood  and 

dust 
Of  this  grim  combat-to-the-utterance, 

Fresh  as  the   foambow  of  the   charging 

wave, 
O    plume    of   Europe,   proud   and   delicate 

France ! 


TO  BELGIUM 

CROWNED  WITH  THORNS 

THOU  that  a  brave,  brief  space  didst  keep 

the  gate 

Against  the  German,  saving  all  the  West 
By  the  subjection  of  thy  shielding  breast 
To  the  brute  blows  and  utmost  shames  of 

Fate; 

Thou  that  in  bonds  of  iron  dost  expiate 
Thy    nobleness    as    crime!      Even    thus 

oppressed, 

Is  not  thy  spirit  mystically  blest, 
O  little  Belgium,  marvellously  great? 

Thou  that  hast  prized  the  soul  above  the 
flesh, 

S3 


54  TO  BELGIUM 

Dost   thou   not,    starving,    eat   of   angels' 

bread? 

With  every  sunrise  crucified  afresh, 
Has  not  this  guerdon  for  all  time  sufficed — 
That  thou  shouldst  wear  upon  thy  hag 
gard  head 
The  awful  honor  of  the  Crown  of  Christ? 


THE  CREED  OF  AN  AMERICAN 

IN    God    our    Father,    and    in    all    men's 

Sonship ; 
In    Brother-love    and    breaking    down    of 

barriers; 

In  Law  that  is  the  just  will  of  the  People 
Shaped,   and  still  shaping,  to  the  People's 

need; 

In  equal  Freedom  and  in  equal  Service, 
Duties  and  Rights:  in  all  these  I  believe. 

In  these   great  States  bound  in  a   greater 

Union, 

Many  in  One,  the  framework  of  the  Fathers, 
Nobly  devised,  a  forecast  of  the  future 
55 


56  THE  CREED  OF  AN  AMERICAN 

When  all  the  Nations  gather  in  God's  fold; 
The  great  Experiment,  the  high  Adventure, 
The  captain  Hope :  in  all  this  I  believe. 


In  this  bright  Flag  of  Liberty  and  Union : 
Its  red,  the  symbol  of  the  blood  of  brothers 
That  flows  through  men  of  every  race  and 

nation; 
Its  white,  the  symbol  of  the  peace  between 

them 
That  shall  be  when  God's  Will  has  wrought 

as  leaven; 
Its  stars,  the  symbol  of  many  Powers  that 

move 

Clustering  together  without  clash  or  conflict, 
In  the  deep  blue  of  the  vast,  tender  sky 
That  is  the  all-enfolding  mantle  of  God — 
With  my  whole  soul  in  all  these  I  believe. 


THE  CREED  OF  AN  AMERICAN  57 

That  I  in  peace  must  show  my  true  allegiance 
To  this  bright  Flag,  this  constellated  Union, 
By  square-done  work  and  clean  unselfish 

living; 
That     I     in     war    must     show    my     true 

allegiance — 
While   war   shall   linger   in   this    world   to 

threaten 
Such     Sanctities     as     these — even     by    my 

dying : 
In  all  this  I  believe.    Amen.     Amen. 


THE  ULTIMATE  VICTORY 

!As  men  that  labor  in  a  mountain  war — 
Scaling  sheer  cliffs,  hewing  out  stairs  of 

stone, 
Trenching  the   ice,   quenching  the  torrent's 

roar 

With  rolling  thunders  in  the  gorges  lone — 
Having  seized  a  height,  might  stand  with 

dazzled  stare, 

Seeing,  beyond,  a  highest  heavenly  peak 
Hung  lucent  as  a  cloud  in  the  bright  air, 
Still  to  be  won:  O  thus,   even  thus,  we 

seek 
Peace   beyond   War!    and   thus   the   Vision 

gleams 

Upon  us  battling,  that  snow-crest  sublime, 
58 


THE  ULTIMATE  VICTORY  59 

That   holy  mountain,    that  pure    crown   of 

dreams, 
Toward  which  Man's  soul  has  struggled 

up  through  Time. 
In  blood  and  sweat  we  war  that  War  may 

cease; 
!And   storming   the  last  peak,   we  conquer 

Peace. 


ROOSEVELT,  1919 

How  shall  we  say  "God  rest  him!" 

Of  him  who  loved  not  rest, 
But  the  pathless  plunge  in  the  forest 

And  the  pauseless  quest, 
And  the  call  of  the  billowing  mountains, 

Crest  beyond  crest? 

Hope  rather,  God  will  give  him 

His  spirit's  need — 
Rapture  of  ceaseless  motion 

That  is  rest  indeed, 
As  the  cataract  sleeps  on  the  cliff-side 

White  with  speed. 
60 


ROOSEVELT,  1919  61 

So  shall  his  soul  go  ranging 

Forever,  swift  and  wide, 
iWith  a   strong  man's   rejoicing, 

As  he  loved  to  ride ; 
But  all  our  days  are  poorer 

For  the  part  of  him  that  died. 


THE  QUIET  DAYS 


OLD  BURYING  HILL 

THIS  is  a  place  that  has  forgotten  tears. 
The  scythe  and  hour-glass  and  the  skull 

and  bones 
Have  lost  their  menace  on  the  marred 

gray  stones. 
The  long  grass  flows,  still  as  the  stream  of 

years. 

The  goldenrod  leans  low  her  dreaming  head. 
Under  the  loving  sun  and  the  warm  sky 
These  lichened  letters  tell  an  outworn  lie, 
\fi  slander  of  good  Death,  discredited. 
A  drowsy  cricket  harps;  and  do  but  seel 
With  mystic  orbs  upon  his  dusky  wing, 
Here  goes  about  his  airy  harvesting 
Qur  little  Brother  Immortality. 
Lost  is  their  title,  those  gaunt  Fears  of  yore: 
Beauty  has  made  this  crown-land  evermore. 
6s 


HEARTBREAK  ROAD 

As  I  went  up  by  Heartbreak  Road 

Before  the  dawn  of  day, 
The  cold  mist  was  all  about, 

And  the  wet  world  was  gray; 
It  seemed  that  never  another  soul 

Had  walked  that  weary  way. 

But  when  I  came  to  Heartbreak  Hill, 

Silver  touched  the  sea; 
I  knew  that  many  and  many  a  soul 

Was  climbing  close  to  me; 
I  knew  I  walked  that  weary  way 

In  a  great  company. 


66 


ROMANCE 

"GooD  cheap !  Good  cheap  1  Buy  my  golden 

ware! 

Sunny-afternoon-color,    happy-harvest-moon- 
color, 
Burnished  bright  as  Beauty's  golden  hair! 

O  come  buy! 

Buy  my  rare  golden  ware!" 
;(But  they  never  came  anigh  him,  they  wen, 

trooping  by  him, 

To  trade  at  the  shop  of  Despair — 
At  the  dark  little  shop  of  Despair!)^ 

"Good  cheap!   Good  cheap!   Buy  my  magic 

ware! 
All  your  meat  shall  savor  of  it,   all  your 

drink  take  flavor  of  it, 

67 


68  ROMANCE 

Yea,  'twill  warm  ye  when  the  hearth  is  bare  I 

O  come  buyl 

Buy  my  fair  golden  ware!" 
(But   they  hurried   past   the   turning,   with 

their  fixed  eyes  burning, 
Making  haste  to  be  cheated  by  Despair — 
Buying  dear  at  the  counter  of  Despair!) 


FAITH 

BEFORE  the  rose  and  violet  had  begun 
On  sky  and  sea,  while  all  the  world  was 

still, 
Colorless,  lifeless,  unconsoled,   and  chill, 

One  little  bird  sang  out  about  the  Sun. 


69 


INTIMATIONS 

"Who  has  seen  the  Wind  ?"— CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 

I  HAVE  seen  the  Wind, 

I  have  seen  him  plain — 
The  silver  feet  of  the  Wind 

Racing  on  the  rain. 

I  have  seen  Time  pass: 

Viewless  as  he  sped, 
The  red  sand  in  the  glass 

Was  shaken  by  his  tread. 

Far,  far  the  goal, 

And  hearts  must  part  awhile — » 
But  I  have  seen  the  Soul 

Shining  through  a  smile. 

70 


INTIMATIONS  71 


Dim,  dim  the  plan, 
And  dumb  is  the  clod: 

But  in  the  eyes  of  Man 
I  have  seen — God. 


ON  THE  SINGING 
OF  "GAUDEAMUS  IGITUR" 

HARK,  how  Youth,  a  scholar  gowned, 
With  the  cap  of  Wisdom  crowned, 
Carols  like  the  reckless  lark, 
Forgetful  of  the  dark! 

What  is  toil,  oh,  what  are  tears? 
Time  turns  pale  when  thus  he  hears 
•Angelic  insolence  of  sound 
Scorning  the  beaten  ground. 

In  the  face  of  Fate  is  flung 
This  gage-gauntlet  of  the  young — • 
Innocent  brave  challenge,  hurled 
In  the  teeth  of  the  world  I 
72 


ON  THE  SINGING  OF  "  GAUDEAMUS  IGITUR  "  73 

Graybeard  Years  file  solemn  past; 
Yet  this  rebel  glee  shall  last 
Long  as  souls  at  morning  rise, 
New  larks,  to  the  old  skies. 


THE  COUNTERSIGN 

ON  guard  my  heavy  Heart  did  stand, 
And  sleep  had  conquered  her, 

Had  not  one  cold  and  rigid  hand 
Gripped  honor  like  a  spur. 

It  was  the  starkest  watch  of  all, 

The  hour  before  the  end. 
Out  rang  the  startled  challenge-call: 

"Halt!    Who  goes  there ?"    "A  Friend." 

"The  countersign?"  my  spent  Heart  cried, 

And  forward-peering  stood. 
A  Voice  as  strange  as  sweet  replied: 

"The  word  is  BROTHERHOOD." 

74 


FAILURE  TRIUMPHANT 

How  many  a  captain  wave,  since  sea  began, 
Has   lordly   led   the    charge    against   the 

shore, 
Whose  crest  a  jewelled  plume  of  rainbow 

bore, 

As  iris  Hope  arches  the  march  of  Man: 
How  many  a  wave,  brave-glittering  in  the 

van, 

Has  melted  as  a  cloud  in  spray  and  roar — 
A  flashing  column  prone,   and  next,   no 

more! 

So   runs   the   tale,    since   Time's   first    sand 
outran. 

75 


76  FAILURE  TRIUMPHANT 

So  ends  the  antique  tale.     Stay!  ends  it  so? 
Though  every  billow  faint  into  a  ghost, 
The    all-embracing    ocean — that    gives 

birth, 

Receives,  and  recreates — in  ebb  and  flow, 
A   vast   sky-coupled   Mystery   round  the 

coast, 

Works  out  its  will  upon  the  face  of 
earth. 


THE  SPARK 

Readers  of  riddles  dark, 

Solve  me  the  mystery  of  the  Spark  I 

My  good  dog  died  yesternight. 
His  heart  of  love  through  his  eyes  of  light 
Had  looked  out  kind  his  whole  life  long. 
In  all  his  days  he  had  done  no  wrong. 
Like  a  knight's  was  his  noble  face. 
What  shall  I  name  the  inward  grace 
That  leashed  and  barred  him  from  all  things 

base? 

Selfless  trust  and  courage  high — • 
Dust  to  dust,  but  are  these  to  die? 

77 


78  THE  SPARK 

j(Hate  and  lust  and  greed  and  lies — 
Dust  to  dust,  and  are  these  to  rise?)^ 

When  'tis  kindled,  whither  it  goes, 
Whether  it  fades,  or  glows  and  grows- 
Readers  of  riddles  dark, 
Solve  me  the.  mystery  of  the  Spark! 


FOXGLOVES 

PINK-PURPLE  foxgloves 
Leaning  to  the  breeze — 

And  all  the  sweet  of  Devon 
Sweeps  back  across  the  seas? 

The  deep  coombs  of  Devon 
Where  the  tiny  hamlets  nest, 

The  golden  sea  of  Devon 

That  glimmers  toward  the  west: 

The  thatched  roofs  of  Devon 

To  which  the  soft  skies  bend- 
Now  the  dear  God  keep  Devon 
The  same  to  His  world's  end! 


79 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BAGPIPES 

I  HEARD  on  Christmas  Eve  the  bonny  bag 
pipes  play; 

The  thin  silver  skirling,  it  sounded  far  away; 

The  yellow  mellow  light  shone  through  my 
neighbor's  panes, 

And  on  the  starry  night  came  the  shrill  dear 
strains. 

Despite  the  welter  of  the  wide  cold  sea, 
They   brought   bonny   Scotland    across    the 

world  to  me; 
And  my  heart  knew  the  heather  that  my 

sense  had  never  smelt, 
And  my  spirit  drank  the  hill  wind  my  brows 

had  never  felt. 

80 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BAGPIPES  81 

From   the    old   kind   books   came   the   old 

friends  trooping, 
And  the  old  songs  called,  like  the  curlew 

swooping; 
And  like   a   sudden  sup  that  was  hot  and 

strong  and  sweet, 
The  love  of  bonny  Scotland,   it  ran  from 

head  to  feet. 

O  blessings  on  the  heather  hills,   in  white 

mist  or  sun  I 
O  blessings  on  the  kind  books  that  make 

the  clans  as  one  I 
And  blessings  on  the  bagpipes  whose  magic 

spanned  the  sea, 
And    brought    bonny    Scotland    across    the 

world  to  mel 


WHEN  THE  ROSES  GO  DOWN 
TO  THE  SEA 

ON  Gloucester  moors  the  roses 

Bloom  haunted  of  the  bee; 
But  there  comes  an  hour  of  the  summer 

With  the  ebb-tide  running  free, 
In  a  blue  day  of  the  summer, 

When  the  roses  go  down  to  the  sea. 

The  hands  of  the  little  children 

Carry  them  to  the  shore; 
The  folk  of  the  City  of  Fishers 

Come  out  from  every  door; 
They  remember  the  lost  captains 

That  shall  come  to  the  port  no  more. 
82 


WHEN  THE  ROSES  GO  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA  83 

They  remember  the  lost  seamen 
Whose  names  the  chaplain  reads; 

Old  English  names  of  Gloucester 
Are  told  like  slipping  beads, 

And  the  names  of  the  fearless  Irish  lads, 
And  Portuguese  and  Swedes. 

They  remember  the  lost  fishers 

Who  shall  come  no  more  to  the  land, 

Nor  look  on  the  broad  blue  harbor, 
Nor  see  the  Virgin  stand, 

Our  Lady  of  Good  Voyage, 

With  the  sailing-ship  in  her  hand. 

They  pray  to  the  Friend  of  fishers 

On  the  Sea  of  Galilee 
For  the  souls  and  bodies  of  seamen 

Wherever  their  voyages  be; 


84  WHEN  THE  ROSES  GO  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

And  singing  they  send  the  roses 
On  the  ebb-tide  down  to  the  sea* 


And  the  lost  seamen  and  captains, 

Wherever  their  bodies  be, 
If  ever  the  sight  of  a  mortal  rite 

Can  move  a  soul  set  free, 
Are  glad  of  the  kindness  of  Gloucester, 
Their  old  sea-city  of  Gloucester, 
Are  moved  with  the  memory  of  Gloucester, 

When  the  roses  go  down  to  the  sea. 


RITUAL  FOR  SUMMER  DEAD 

AUGUST  turns  autumnal  now: 
Scarlet  the  sudden  maple-bough 
At  the  turn  of  the  wood-road  gleams; 
On  the  hearth  the  gray  log  sings 
Sleepy  songs  of  vanished  things — 
Babbling,  bubbling  John-a-Dreama. 
August  is  autumn  now. 

Find  the  field  where,  dead  and  dry, 
Under  the  broad  still  noontide  sky, 
Bleached  in  the  flow  of  the  bright-blue 

weather, 

Stalks  of  the  milkweed  stand  together. 
Take  the  pale-brown  pod  in  hand, 

8s 


86  RITUAL  FOR  SUMMER  DEAD 

Packed  with  seeds  of  silvery  feather; 
Wander  dreaming  through  the  land. 
Let  each  silken  plumelet  sift 
Through  the  fingers,  drift  and  drift, 
Touched  with  the  sun  to  rainbow  light- 
Float — and  float — and  out  of  sight ! 

So  might  incense  drift  away. 
Golden  Summer  is  dead  to-day. 
As  a  pious  thurifer 
Swing  the  censer  meet  for  her. 


RED  OCTOBER 

RED  October,  and  the  slow  leaf  sailing; 
All  the  maples  flaring  scarlet  splendor, 
All  the  dogwoods  glowing  crimson  glory, 
All  the  oak-leaves  bronze,  the  beech-leaves 
golden : 

Blue,  ah  blue!  the  reaches  of  the  river, 
Blue  the  sky  above  the  russet  mountain, 
Blue  the     creek  among  the  tawny  marshes, 
Blue  the  tart    wild-grape    beside    the    hill- 
road: 

At  our  feet  the  burnished  chestnut  shining; 
Scent    of    autumn,    and   the   brown   leaves' 
rustle ; 

87 


88  RED  OCTOBER 

Cloudy  clematis  among  th*  brambles, 
Orange  bittersweet  along  the  wayside. 

Days  too-perfect,  priceless  for  their  passing, 
Colored  with  the  light  of  evanescence, 
Fragrant  with  the  breath  of  frailest  beauty — 
Days  ineffable  of  red  October  1 


THE  SINGER  CHOOSES  THE  SONGS 
OF  THE  WIND 

HENCEFORTH  I  will  sing  no  songs 

But   the   songs    that   are    fluent,    irregular, 
swift,  unguided: 

I  will  turn  no  tunes  but  the  tunes  of  the  winds 
and  the  waters. 

I  know  that  the  song  of  the  bird  is  remem 
bered,  it  changes  not; 

And  I  know  that  the  song  of  the  wind  is 
unremembered; 

But  it  stirs  the  ground  of  the  heart  while 
the  song  is  a-singing, 

And  it  flows  from  a  vaster  source  than  the 
song  of  the  bird. 
89 


go          CHOOSES  THE  SONGS  OF  THE  WIND 

So  I  will  sing  the  song  of  the  wind  in  the 

long  grass,  by  the  river, 
And  the  song  of  the  wind  in  the  dry  and 

copper-brown   oak-leaves, 
In  the  autumnal  season,  so  beautiful  and  sad, 
And  the  song  of  the  wind  in  the  green  cool 

ranks  of  the  com 

As  it  stirs  very  lightly  in  the  summer, 
And  the  song  of  the  wind  in  the  pines,  when 

the  shadows  are  blue  on  the  snow, 
And  the  song,  song,  song,  of  the  wind  in  the 

flapping  flag, 
And  the  winter-night  song  of  the  wind  in  the 

chimney, 
And  the  swelling,  lulling  song  of  the  swirling 

wind  of  the  sea 
That  is  blent  with  the  plunge  of  the  sea. 


THE  GLEAM  TRAVELS 

IT  is  morning,  and  April. 

(They  sleep,  but  I  am  alive  and  awake — 

the  soft  warm  lucent  blue  of  the  spring 

heaven  bathes  my  soul.) 
There,    and    again    there,    the   willow-veils 

hanging,  golden-green,  tremulous, 
Near  by,  the  bright  red-bronze  of  the  lifted 

cherry-boughs,  flashing  in  the  sun, 
Far  off,  gray-purple  of  the  woods  warming 

to  life; 
The  clouds  floating — O  so  full  of  light  and 

blessing,  that  I  think  they  live  and  love, 
Or  truly  that  they  are  beautiful  veils,  not 

all  hiding  that  which  lives  and  loves! 
91 


93  THE  GLEAM  TRAVELS 

Morning,  and  April, 

And  on  the  far-away  road,  hither  leading, 
the  road  but  now  gray  with  the  cloud- 
shadow, 

The  gleam  travels. 

Hitherward  the  gleam  travels; 

Behind  it  lies  the  gray  shadow  on  the  hill. 

O  life  immense!     O  love  unspeakable!     O 

large  To-day! 
O  moment  of  utterance  given  to  me    (the 

shadow  too  travels), 
O  moment  of  joy,  of  trust,  of  song  for  my 

soul,  and  for  those  who  sleep,  and  for 

those  who  shall  by  and  by  wake! 
Life, 

Morning,  and  April — 
Hitherward  the  gleam  travels! 


THE  GRAY  VICTORY 

ON  the  top  of  a  great  rock, 
A  rounded  boulder  with  rust-colored  stains, 
Set  high  over  the  blue-green  of  the  bay, 
Braced  strong  with  iron  against  the  strong 

salt  wind, 
The  old,  gray  figurehead  is  left. 

Does  any  one  know  who  set  it  there,  so  high? 
Some  sailor-fisherman 
Who  lived  in  a  little  hut  beside  the  rock. 
The  hut  is  gone,  there  are  the  bricks  of  its 

foundation, 
The  old,  gray  figurehead  is  left. 

93. 


94  THE  GRAY  VICTORY 

A  carving  crude  yet  noble, 

Of  silvery,  weathered  wood: 

A  hero-woman, 

Large,  simple,  bold  and  calm. 

One  hand  is  on  her  breast,  her  throat  curves 

proudly, 
Her    head    is    thrown    back    proudly,    she 

seems  exulting; 
There     is     also     in    her    look    something 

strangely  devout, 
Patient,  and  nobly  meek. 

What   far-away   workman   made   her,    and 

what  was  his  meaning? 
Was  she  a  Victory?  or  Hope,  or  Faith? 

She  looks  upon  the  sea: 

The  bitter  sea  that  cast  upon  these  rocks 

Her  ship  of  long  ago. 


THE  GRAY  VICTORY  9S 

Who  knows  what  agony,  who  knows  what 

loss 

Is  in  her  memory?    What  struggle  of  sailors 
In  wild  cold  waves,  at  night? 

With  head  thrown  back 

She  looks  upon  the  sea. 

In  every  large  curve  of  her  broken  body 

Is  trust,  is  triumph. 

Against  the  sky  she  rises, 

The  light-filled,  pure,  ineffable  azure  sky; 

Serene,  unshaken, 

Rises  the  Victory. 


FLAGS  AND  THE  SKY 

I  LOOKED  from  my  window: 

I  heard  a  whisper  without  from  the  rippling 

poplar, 
I  heard  the  wash  of  the  river,  its  waves  are 

never  still; 

I  looked,  and  over  the  water  the  flag, 
Alive    as   the   river,    alive   as   the   rippling 

poplar, 

Rippled  too  in  the  wind. 
The  sun  was  upon  it. 
It  had  the  beauty  of  flowers. 

0  flag,   though  you  were  not  my  own,   I 

know  I  should  love  you: 

1  love  all  flowers,  all  flags: 

96 


FLAGS  AND  THE  SKY  97 

Their  colors  in  the  wind  flowing,  in  the  sun 

brightening: 
Deep  blue  of  the  night  sky,  or  the  splendor 

of  flame, 
Or  green  of  spring,  or  the  daring  imperious 

scarlet, 

The  color  of  men's  blood: 
Their  curious  blazonry  I  love,  heraldic,  his 
toric, 
Leopard  or  eagle,  stripe  or  star  or  raying 

sun, 
Or  the  Cross  of  St.  George  and  the  Cross 

of  St.  Andrew, 
Or  whatsoever  sign  men  have  loved  and 

followed. 

For  surely  a  flag  has  a  soul. 
It  is  a  thing  sacred  as  sunrise, 
It  is  sacred  as  the  stars. 


98  FLAGS  AND  THE  SKY 

The  spirit  of  Man  lifts  it  up  into  the  sky 
That  holds  all  stars,  all  flags. 

I  believe  that  a  flag  cannot  be  dishonored 
forever 

By  any  deed  of  men. 

Let  it  but  fly  awhile,  and  the  wind  will  win 
now  it, 

And  the  fierce  pure  sun  will  purge  it,  will 
wash  it  clean; 

For  the  souls  of  races  and  nations  live  in  the 
sky, 

And  are  forever  better  than  the  deeds 
men  do. 

There  was  a  man  who  burned  with  fire 
The  flag  that  he  loved  best, 
Because  he  thought  that  out  of  its  dead  ashes 
Might  rise  the  Flag  of  Man, 


FLAGS  AND  THE  SKY  99 

He  would  have  to  wait  a  long  time  for  that 

rising, 

He  would  have  to  wait  forever; 
For  live  things  do  not  rise  out  of  ashes, 
They  rise  out  of  live  loves. 

That  man  never  knew  that  his  flag  had  a 

soul, 
He  never  knew  that  the  world  needed  the 

soul  in  his  flag, 
And  the  souls  in  all  flags. 

The  Flag  of  Man! 

What  should  be  its  colors,  in  the  wind  flow 
ing,  in  the  sun  brightening? 
And  what  should  be  its  curious  blazonry? 

The  upper  field  should  be  blue  as  the  sky 
of  God: 


ioo  FLAGS  AND  THE  SKY 

The  lower  field,  should  be  red  as  the  blood 

of  Man: 

And  there  should  fly  forever  beside  it — 
Always   beside   it,    and   neither   above   nor 

below  it — 

The  one  flag  that  a  man  is  born  to, 
Born  of  his  mother  to  love  and  not  to  leave, 
As  he  loves  his  mother  and  will  not  leave  her. 

The  Flag  of  Man! 

It  is  long  a-weaving. 

God  speed  the  weaving,  and  Man  speed  the 

weaving ! 
Let  every  one  of  us  go  on  weaving  that 

flag  in  his  heart; 
Perhaps,  when  the  grass  is  rippling  over  the 

grave  of  him, 
It  may  ripple  in  the  sky  that  holds  all  stars, 

all  flags, 
The  Flag  of  All  Souls. 


Cone,H.G. 

The   coat 


40S935 

without   a 


seun 


953 

0747 

CO 


UNIVERSITY  QF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


